


take me on your mighty wings tonight

by boasamishipper



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Rewrite, F/F, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper
Summary: Her name is Carol. / Carol Danvers, before and after the Kree.
Relationships: Carol Danvers & Maria Rambeau & Monica Rambeau, Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau
Comments: 20
Kudos: 71
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	take me on your mighty wings tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ourdarkspirits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdarkspirits/gifts).



Her name is Carol Susan Jane Danvers. Her middle names are her grandmothers’ — her mom’s mom, and her dad’s mom — and her first is the name of the nurse who brought her into this world, because her dad was too busy grieving to come up with something new. They tell her she looks like her mom, which is probably why her dad can’t stand to look at her half the time and focuses most of his ire on her older brother, Stevie (and the Red Sox, whenever they lose).

Stevie’s her favorite. He looks out for her, shows her the constellations in the night sky and watches _Jonny Quest_ with her on Friday afternoons and teaches her how to play baseball. Tells her to ignore anybody who tells her she can’t play because she’s smaller, or because she’s a girl. “You’ve got the most spunk out of anybody on that field, Carol,” he tells her. There’s almost seven years between them, but he always talks to her like she’s an adult, and she loves him for it. “Don’t let them knock you down.”

* * *

Her name is Carol Danvers, and she’s got a reputation in the neighborhood for her stubborn recklessness, her fierce determination to prove herself. She forces her way onto the boys’ Little League tryouts and out-hits every boy on the team, and gives the coach a piece of her mind when he claims she’s too fragile to play. Armed with nothing but knee-pads and Stevie’s football helmet, she rides her two-wheeler down the steepest hills with no fear, no matter how many times she crashes. When the carnival comes to town, she goes on all of the scary rides and makes Stevie take her to the go-karts even though she’s three and a half inches shorter than the height restrictions.

He doesn’t get mad at her when she crashes her go-kart through the fence and a nearby haystack. Her dad does, though. They get into a huge screaming match in the middle of the carnival, and Carol stands her ground. “You let _him_ drive,” she snarls, careful not to give away how much her arm hurts. “Why can’t I?”

“You’re a _girl,”_ her dad snaps, like her gender is the worst possible thing he could think of to say. That’s how half their conversations go, now that she’s older, all snapping and snarling and snark back and forth. “Goddamn it, Carol, I did not raise you to act this way!”

“You didn’t raise me at all!”

For a split second, she thinks her dad’s going to hit her, and maybe he would have if Stevie hadn’t come jogging up to them. Instead, he just gives her one last disparaging look, scoffs, and turns on his heel and walks away.

(It would have hurt less if he’d hit her.)

That night, she hides in the hall behind a potted cactus and listens to her father and brother scream at each other about her. About how she doesn’t act like a lady, whatever that means, and how her life is going to be ruined if she doesn’t remember her place, and _Isn’t it nice that you’ve decided to get your head out of the Thunderbird and start giving a shit about your daughter,_ and _who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that Steven you piece of_ and _Go ahead, Pops, hit me, that’s how you solve all your problems, don't you?_

After the argument’s done and her dad’s stormed off somewhere (who cares where, really), she joins Stevie in the backyard. He’s sitting on the grass and smoking a cigarette; must have stolen them from their dad. “Those things’ll kill you.”

“Not me,” Stevie says, giving her a tired smile. “I’m too cool to die.”

Carol laughs. “Right,” she says. She rolls up the sleeves of the flannel she’s wearing — a hand me down from Stevie — and leans against him. “I would’ve beat you earlier if I haven’t crashed.”

“Yeah,” Stevie says. “Yeah, you would have. Listen, Carol…” He sighs, and stubs out his cigarette in the plastic ashtray at his feet. “You know not every fight’s worth having, right?”

“What?”

“Your little stunt with dad at the carnival today,” he says. “Not the smartest thing to do.”

“He was yelling at me for no reason, Stevie! What was I supposed to do, just lay down and take it?”

“Carol—”

“You’re the one who taught me never to let anybody knock me down—”

“Yeah, if it’s a fight you can handle!” Stevie’s sharp retort shocks her into silence; he’s never yelled at her before. “You’re eleven years old and a hundred pounds soaking wet, and you’re not strong enough to take Dad on.” He takes a breath. “Not yet, anyway.”

It takes a few seconds for her to remember how to breathe again. “…You really think I could take him on someday?”

“I think you’ll be strong enough to take on the world someday,” Stevie says, and there’s not a hint of doubt or condescension in his voice. He really does believe it.

Carol grins.

* * *

Her name is Carol Danvers, and the government wants to take her brother away. There’s a war in Vietnam — or so there has been for as long as she can remember — and now they’ve decided to draft people through a lottery, except the prize is almost certain death in the jungles of a country thousands of miles away. She’s not eligible since she’s a girl and she’s too young, but Stevie is.

The days pass, and soon it’s the night before he’s supposed to ship out. Her dad’s made himself scarce since the draft lottery, and Stevie’s acting so calm that it makes her want to punch the wall until the plaster gives way. “You can fight this,” she says. He’s smoking outside again, even though it’s so cold she can see her breath in the air. “Bobby’s brother burnt his draft card and he moved to Canada. You can do that too. You don’t have to go.”

“Yeah, I do.” Stevie sounds exhausted. “This isn’t a fight I can win.” He turns to look at her, and the moonlight casts a shadow over his face, making him look older, drawn. “I’m not a coward, Carol.”

“I know you’re not,” she says, desperate. Hot tears burn her eyes. “But I…” _I don’t want you to go. I can’t be alone here with Dad. You’re all I’ve got._

“Hey.” Stevie crosses the porch and taps his knuckles against her chin. “Carol. It’ll be okay. Besides, I’ve got a secret advantage.”

Carol sniffles. “What?”

“I’m named after America’s greatest defender,” he says, grinning. “Maybe they’ll give me a shield and everything. How’s that song go? _‘When Captain America throws his mighty shieeeeeeeld…’”_

Despite everything, Carol laughs. “Yeah, sure. You’d be a great Captain America.”

“I’d be a fantastic Captain America,” he says. “I’m an All-American Boy.”

“Right.”

Stevie bumps her shoulder. “Chin up,” he says, serious now. “It’ll be okay. I’ll write you, and you can fill me in on all of your adventures when I come home.” Carol hugs him tight. She’s twelve now and only comes up to his torso, but he bends down and hugs her back, his breath coming in shakily. “Love you, kid.”

“Love you too.” When Carol speaks next, she curses herself for sounding so young and fragile. “Will you — can you tell me the stars story again?”

She feels him stroke her hair, which she’d cut short with safety scissors last month. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.” He heads over to the rickety old porch swing, and Carol follows. They usually sit on the grass, but it’s covered with snow now, and this spot has the second best view of the stars. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Alouette who dreamed of flying into the stars…”

* * *

Her name is Carol Danvers, and her brother is dead. He died in a skirmish in Cambodia, according to the uniformed officers who come to their door to tell them the news, but all Carol can think about is if he was scared at the end. And beneath her grief and shock, there’s anger. He promised he’d come home.

It’s the only promise he’d ever broken.

The funeral’s small, attended by her and her dad and some assorted friends from high school. She shows up in Stevie’s old communion suit, and ignores all the whispers. Her dad doesn’t give her hell for it, which is good, because for once, she’s not up for a fight. None of it feels real until she sees the tombstone with the words _STEVEN JOSEPH DANVERS_ engraved in it. No one ever called him Steven. It was always Steve, or Stevie. She was the only one allowed to call him that.

(Before they bury him, she sneaks a few Captain America trading cards into his coffin. Captain America cards for Stevie Danvers, her big brother, and the All-American Boy.)

* * *

Her name is Carol Danvers, and she needs to get the hell out of this town. There’s no point in staying now that Stevie’s not around; her dad ignores her completely, drowning his sorrows over his lost son in whiskey, and the kids in school hate her because she’s different.

She’s smarter than them, faster and stronger, but it’s not that. It’s the fact that she’s never worn a skirt in her life, and has no idea what to do with makeup, and knocked Sammy Daniels’s lights out when he tried getting handsy with her in phys ed. She figured she’d have a boyfriend by now, or at least that she’d start liking some boy in her class, but all she can think about when prom comes around is that she’d rather go in a tux with a girl on her arm than on someone else’s.

The realization hits home during a house party her senior year, where they’re all drunk and playing spin the bottle in the basement. She’d had to kiss a few guys and hadn’t minded, not really, but everything changes when the bottle lands on Jess Simmons and they have to kiss. It’s short and chaste, but it awakens something long dormant inside her. Afterwards, colors seem brighter, sounds seem sharper, and the only thought on loop in her head is _I want to do that again._

Carol wonders what Stevie would say, if she told him that she only likes girls. He’d probably be okay with it, or so she hopes. She knows she can never let her dad find out, which is fine by her. She’s got a high school diploma now, and she’s getting the hell out of here. The only question is what she’s going to do when she leaves.

_And so, little Alouette flew up throughout the night…_

Carol graduates with honors, and rides out of town on a motorcycle with nothing but a duffel bag and the clothes on her back.

She enlists in the Air Force. She’s going to fly.

* * *

Her name is Carol Danvers. After basic training, she almost forgets she has a first name at all — she’s either _Danvers,_ or _Airman,_ or _You!_ It’s the hardest work she’s ever done in her life, but she’s determined to push through. She’s going to be a pilot no matter what her COs say, and through the jeers and sneers and back-breaking work, she holds her head up high. 

She meets Maria Rambeau fresh out of basic. They’re the only women in their squadron, so maybe it’s natural for them to fall together, but Carol wouldn’t have it any other way. Maria’s quick-witted, and warm, and funny, and she quickly becomes the best friend that Carol’s ever had. It’s the two of them against the world and the jackasses like Brett Johnson with the constant cockpit jokes, and for the first time in as long as she can remember, she’s happy. She really, truly is.

Carol’s quick to notice that something’s up when Maria skips out on karaoke night at Pancho’s. She loves singing and lights up rooms with her voice; she wouldn’t miss unless something was seriously up. When she gets to Maria’s place, she lets herself in with the key under the doormat and finds Maria hunched over the toilet, dry-heaving — and her panic kicks up a notch. “Maria, are you okay?”

“Jim dandy,” says Maria, her voice muffled and not at all surprised by the fact that Carol’s in her house.

“Are you sick?” Carol crouches beside her best friend, feeling her forehead for a temperature. She doesn’t seem to have a fever — is it the flu? Something more serious? “What’s the matter? How long’s this been going on?”

“Couple days.”

“Do you — have you been to the doctor? Is it the flu?”

For some reason, that makes Maria laugh. “Nah,” she says. “Something a bit stronger than that.”

“What?”

And Carol knows even before Maria looks up, before she sees the wrappers in the trash can, before she says softly, “I’m pregnant.”

* * *

Her name is Carol Danvers, and she’s got the most precious cargo in the world in her arms: Monica Violet Rambeau, all seven pounds, six ounces, nineteen inches of her. She’d driven through the night from California to Louisiana once Maria called her with the news, and although she’s exhausted and operating on nothing but McDonalds and cheap hospital coffee, she’s never felt more content. “Hey there,” she whispers to little Monica, who studies her carefully. “Hi, baby.”

“She seems to like you,” Maria says from her hospital bed. She looks exhausted, but no less beautiful. Carol spares a second to wonder where that word came from before returning her gaze to the baby in her arms.

“What can I say?” she says, grinning. “Kids love me.”

“Well, I hope this one does. It’d be bad taste for her to hate her godmother.”

Carol almost drops Monica on the floor. “Godmother?”

“Yeah,” Maria says, smiling, but there’s something hesitant about it. Unsure. There’s a lot of words that Carol could use to describe Maria Rambeau, but ‘unsure’ has never been one of them. “If that’s okay with you, that is.”

Monica makes a soft cry in Carol’s arms, and Carol shifts her absentmindedly, her brain still stuck on _godmother_ like a piece of cloth in a barbed wire fence. Godmother. Her, Monica’s godmother. Jesus. “Yeah,” she says once she’s sure she can speak without crying. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And the brightness of Maria’s smile assures Carol that she’s made the right decision.

* * *

Her name is Carol Danvers, and she’s in love. Completely, utterly, hopelessly, ass over teacups in love with her best friend. For the first time in her life, she understands what Stevie meant about fights you can’t win, because this infatuation is something she could never emerge victorious against.

It’s everything. It’s her sharp wit, her intelligence. Her smile, her laugh. Her gold earrings and the way they bring out the golden flecks in her eyes. Her hugs, and her affection for Carol and Monica, who they’ve both taken to nicknaming Lieutenant Trouble. The way she sings _Kiss Me Deadly_ while she looks directly into Carol’s eyes, and how dizzy it makes Carol feel in turn. Add all of that up, and Carol is so gone that it’s physically painful.

They go see _Top Gun_ for Maria’s birthday, and spend the whole time laughing at the stunts and the flimsy plot and the sheer amount of times the men are shirtless. Carol drives her home on the back of her motorcycle, and Maria invites her in for coffee as soon as the babysitter leaves. The conversation is as easy as ever, like breathing, but it comes to a halt when Carol teases Maria about her admiration of Val Kilmer’s character and Maria jokes in response, “What can I say, I just have a thing for blondes.”

Everything goes quiet. Carol swallows hard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Maria says.

“I’m blonde,” Carol says, and then wants to throw herself out the window and into incoming traffic. God, what a stupid damn thing to say—

“Yeah,” Maria says. She’s moved closer, abandoning her cup of coffee. They’re so close now that Carol can see where a bit of her mascara has smudged from the tears of laughter, can see every one of her eyelashes. “I know you are.”

Years later, Carol can’t say which of them leans in first, only that one second they’re separate and the next they’re kissing. Really, really kissing, and Carol loses herself in the sensation. Maria’s hand is on the small of Carol’s back, the other on Carol’s face. No one had ever kissed her like Maria is kissing her now. No one had ever. Nothing had ever.

She doesn’t notice that Maria’s moved back until about five seconds later, when she opens her eyes again. There’s that same hesitant unsure look on her face that she’d worn back in the hospital room. “That okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is very hoarse, and she clears her throat, a stupid grin spreading across her face. “I’ve always had a thing for brunettes.”

* * *

Her name is Carol Danvers, and she finally gets to fly. Dr. Wendy Lawson invites her and Maria to help test planes for a project so top secret that their new security makes her head spin, and Carol quickly discovers that flying is the best feeling in the world, second only to Maria’s lips on hers. The doc’s a little weird, what with her strange turns of phrase and reluctance to discuss her past and the cat that follows her everywhere, but Carol likes her a lot anyway. Respects her, too, for treating Carol and Maria like people.

Things are finally coming together. She’s got a good job, and she’s finally making a difference. (She earns the callsign Avenger after someone overhears her talking about Stevie, and it fits her like a glove.) She has a goddaughter in Monica — a _daughter_ — and Maria as a partner in the ground and on the air. A partner who she loves more than anybody in the world. 

Everything is perfect.

* * *

Nothing perfect ever lasts.

* * *

Her name is Vers. Kree Star Force, GRX-31-600. She has no memory beyond flashes of an older woman and the feeling of flying, and a fierce determination to prove herself. Yon-Rogg trains her to be the strongest she can be, and when she’s assigned to his squadron, she’s determined to do her part to help take the Skrull invasion down once and for all.

And then she’s kidnapped, and strapped to a Skrull torture machine, and watches distorted visions of another life dance before her eyes. Visions of racing strange cars _(go-karts,_ something tells her, _they’re go-karts)_ and stories of constellations, flying through the air and singing in bars. Of an older woman with short hair, an orange cat, a little girl with a bright smile, and a beautiful woman with eyes like stars.

It’s not until she crash-lands on C-53 and meets Nick Fury that the pieces start coming together, forming a puzzle that she doesn’t know how to solve. She had a life here, on the Terran homeworld. A life with the people from her memories. And by the stars, she’s going to figure this whole thing out if it kills her.

The little girl from her mind turns out to not be so little anymore, but the woman is as beautiful as ever, and they both say her name is Carol. Carol Susan Jane Danvers. Auntie Carol. Captain Danvers, callsign Avenger. Carol. So many titles, she’s not sure which one to choose. But they all fit so much better than Vers ever did, so she’d be a fool to not at least consider them.

There are pictures, proving she had a life here. Pictures of her and the little girl (Monica) on the holidays, pictures of her and the woman (Maria) in uniform and fancier clothing, pictures of the three of them everywhere. A family. She thinks she might drown in stories of her old life, and collects the details like sea shells, trying to keep afloat — and yet, she knows there’s something missing. Something neither Monica nor Maria are telling her.

“So,” Vers — Carol, her name is _Carol_ — says to Maria, after Fury, Talos, Norex, and Monica have all gone to bed. Her head is still spinning with the revelation of the circumstances of Mar-Vell’s death, and the truth of the Kree-Skrull war. After that flashback, her memories have slowly started returning, in disjointed fragments. Her father. The Air Force. Stevie. Monica’s birth. Mar-Vell. But Maria — the whole Maria — is still missing. “This has been a crazy day.”

Maria snorts. A familiar sound that tugs at Carol’s heart. “Yeah,” she says. “That’s for sure. Not every day my best friend comes back from the dead and tells me she’s a space caped crusader.”

 _When Captain America throws his mighty shieeeeeeeld…_ “Right.” She presses her lips together. “I still don't remember you. Not all of you, anyway.” She swallows, tries again when the temperature in the room seems to drop twenty degrees. “You were important to me. I know that. I just — I just don’t know how much.”

Maria visibly swallows. They’re standing so close that Carol can see her chest rising and falling, can see every individual laugh line around her eyes.

“Can I,” she starts, her voice low, and Maria kisses her before she’s even finished asking what she can do. Her heart starts like it’s been injected with four thousand volts of electricity, each beat seeming to whisper, _Oh. You. I remember you. Maria, Maria, Maria._

“I’m sorry,” Maria says. She’d pulled away after barely five seconds, nervous and unsure. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have — I was—”

“I remember.”

Her flow of words stops as though Carol had muted her with the television remote. They start out again slow, cautious. Desperately hopeful. “What do you remember?”

“That I’ve always had a thing for brunettes,” Carol says. For a split second she worries that it had been the wrong thing to say — she doesn’t know where that came from — but then Maria starts smiling, slow and sure, and throws her arms around Carol in a tight embrace.

_Yes. This is right. This is what I’ve been looking for._

* * *

Her name is Carol, and she has to leave again. The Skrull need her, and she needs to finish what Mar-Vell started. No, she doesn’t need to. She _has_ to, otherwise she’ll never forgive herself. But she’ll also never forgive herself if she doesn’t do this right.

“I’ll come back,” she says to Monica and Maria, long after Fury and Goose have returned to New York City with the Tesseract. “I’ll visit as often as I can. And Soren taught you how to work the communicators, right? So we can stay in touch, and talk whenever.”

“Will you come back for my birthday?” Monica asks, and then she frowns. “You probably don't remember when that is, do you?”

“No,” Carol admits. “But don’t tell me. It’ll come back to me.” Her expression softens as Maria takes her hand. “And I’ll come back to you. Both of you.”

“Good.” Maria’s laugh is wet. Carol kisses her, reveling in the feeling that she can do so again. They’ve got a lot of ground work to make up on that end too. “You better.”

* * *

Twenty-three years pass. She gets the Skrull to a safe location, and takes down the Supreme Intelligence. Stories and rumors label her the Universe’s Best Defender, calling her Captain Marvel, and she can’t say she minds the title. She comes back to Earth as often as she can to visit Maria and Monica and Fury and Goose, and the emergency pager at her hip doesn’t beep once.

There’s a first time for everything.

* * *

The Decimation takes Maria and Monica, and Carol throws herself into helping the Avengers come up with solutions. It takes five years of traveling through space and digging up potential answers before Stark and Lang come up with time travel to steal the Infinity Stones back and reverse the Snap. As far as crazy plans go, she’s heard far worse.

They can only go where they’ve been before, and as her travels with the Kree once took her to Vormir, she’s sent to get the Soul Stone. It’s just as much of a shithole as she remembers, and the man-slash-entity waiting for her greets her with a sad smile. “Welcome Carol, daughter of Joseph.”

She doesn’t waste time on niceties. “Where is the Soul Stone?”

“What you seek lies in front of you. As does what you fear.”

Confused, she glances down at the ground hundreds of feet below. “The Stone is down there?”

“In a matter of speaking,” says the man. He points a bony finger at the jagged rocks below. “The Stone demands a sacrifice. In order to take it, you must leave behind that which you love.”

And despite everything, Carol scoffs. “There’s no one left that I love.”

That takes the man aback. “Then other sacrifices must be made,” he says. “What do you love that you are willing to sacrifice?”

The question stays with her for over an hour as she paces back and forth across the rocky terrain. It isn’t until her frustration makes her hurl a photon blast at the ground beneath where the man is floating that she comes up with the answer.

_And so, little Alouette flew up throughout the night…only to return to Earth with the day._

“Take my powers,” she says. The man’s eyebrows — or eye ridges, rather — go up, but she knows that this is the right thing to do. “I’ll trade them for the Stone.”

* * *

It’s a hell of a final battle. She takes to the sky in a fighter jet magicked up by Wong and Dr. Strange and destroys Thanos’s ship, and the Avengers band together one last time to defeat Thanos. Tony Stark snaps his fingers, and nearly dies from the effort of reversing the Decimation. And once all is said and done, once she realizes that everyone lost has returned, she asks Wong to open a portal for her so she can go home. 

She staggers through Maria’s front door, and Monica and Maria both turn to look at her like she’s a ghost. She must look like shit — short hair, grimy and soot-stained and bloody, and no longer a young woman. In exchange for the Stone, she’d traded away her powers and immortality, leaving her her true age of sixty-six. And she doesn’t regret it for a single heartbeat.

“Auntie Carol?” Monica breathes. She’s so grown up now, just as beautiful as her mother. “Is that you?”

She manages a nod before Monica practically jumps her, clinging to her so tight that it’s hard to breathe. Maria follows shortly after — Maria, who even at sixty-six (or sixty-one, Carol supposes, what with the years lost to the Decimation) is still so goddamned beautiful it takes her breath away. Maria touches Carol’s face gently, like she’s something precious, and it brings tears to her eyes. “Carol,” she whispers. Her voice is like the auditory version of a caress. “What happened? What did you do?”

“I’ll explain later,” Carol says. Her voice is trembling from the pressure of the joy flowing through her veins. “I promise.”

That’s good enough for Maria, who embraces Carol just as tightly, and Carol clings to them both like a lifeline.

Her name is Carol Danvers. She’s finally home.


End file.
